A Breath Too Late - Rocky Callen Page 0,30

it. I didn’t. “Of course.” I started to get to my feet, but you were off.

“Cheater!” I chased after you and I loved how my heartbeat tripped over my breath as we ran away from our wonderland. We laughed with every step.

* * *

There is no smile on your face as you take another swig of beer and sit with your back against the faded barn wall. I stare at you. What are you doing, August? Graduation is soon and you are here drinking? I want to slap you.

There is a party tonight.

That’s right, a senior party.

That’s where you should be. Getting ready. Making wild memories with all the friends that think you are fifty shades of awesome, not here alone.

“Get your ass up, Matthews!” I yell at you, but you can’t hear me.

You do get up to your feet and toss your beer bottle against the barn bridge wall. It shatters.

“You have to stop breaking stuff,” I say to you, but then I am glad you can’t hear me, because I am no one to make such a request.

I break too much.

I remember when everything began to change between us. I remember when the metaphorical wood branded with our BFF promise began to splinter.

* * *

Father stopped working late on Mondays and so our afternoons playing in our little grove came to an end. Our last Monday together was a hot June afternoon. It was the day before your birthday. We were leaning against our BFF board in the barn bridge and sort of leaning on each other as if the whole wall behind us wasn’t quite enough. We each needed the other.

“Are you coming to my birthday party tomorrow?”

“You’re having a birthday party on a Tuesday?”

“Yeah, why not? School is out.”

I bit the inside of my lip. “What time?” If it was during the day, then maybe I could stop by … maybe I could have your mom pick me up?

“Seven p.m.” You beamed. “Water fight. So don’t wear a white T-shirt, ’kay, Boney?”

Usually, I laughed when you said things like that, or called me “Boney,” but I didn’t this time. Your smile faltered. “I—I was just joking. I didn’t mean…”

“Oh no, it isn’t that. I just … don’t know if I can go.”

“Why not?”

“I’m, uh, busy.”

“Bull crap,” you said matter-of-factly.

“What? I am.”

“Ellie Walker, you are never busy. You are just home.”

I stiffened. I didn’t know what to say. I could lie, but then … would you know?

“I—I don’t know if I can get a ride.”

“Oh, that’s no big deal. My mom can pick you up,” you said, picking at the leaves stuffed in your laces.

“August, I just can’t go, okay?”

Standing up, I turned back to you. “I can’t come tomorrow. But, I’ll get you something. I promise.”

“I don’t need a present, Ellie. I just wanted you to come.” You shifted, straightening your legs as if you could actually block my path. I stepped over your outstretched legs.

I couldn’t say that I wanted to go, because then you would press harder to convince me. You would get your mom to call my momma and then she would try to figure it out and I knew that while I was off somewhere pelting school kids with a water gun, Father would be home pelting her with fists. I couldn’t do that to her.

“I can’t,” I said harshly.

You stared at me—your eyes somewhere past my head staring, glaring. “Fine.”

I ran off.

Tuesday night I tossed and turned. Who would be there? What were they doing? Who won? Who sat next to you when you blew out the candles? I was jealous. I didn’t remember the last party I had gone to and I wish I could’ve gone to yours.

The next Monday, I started lacing up my shoes at 3:47 p.m. I know because I had looked at the big clock in the kitchen and I was going to be late to meet you by the creek if I didn’t run. FAST.

I stiffened when I heard it. A motor roaring down the street.

Please don’t be him.

But it was him. He was home early. Hours early.

I stood up straight, cringing as I heard his boots on the porch steps, and then the door creaked open and he filled it. He stopped when he saw me staring. I thought, This is the ogre who guards the bridge so that no one can ever leave.

I knew then that I wouldn’t see you that day.

I knew then that something was about to change.

23

Father,

That day, you looked